


Shitenhouji Story

by Omicheese



Series: Tenipuri AU project [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gen, Superpowers, Warring states period, silliness abound, somewhat disjointed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omicheese/pseuds/Omicheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In mid-1500s Japan, Power is everything.  Empowered people have supernatural advantage over the Powerless, and find work in all the strongest armies and brute squads.  And yet, even then, you still find plenty of people who really don't care.  These are some of those.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shitenhouji

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my Tenipuri AU project. Everything is related. My [Silver Pair fic, Linked,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1012147/chapters/2009312) is designed such that it explains the setting and everything in a narrative fashion. This fic is not like that. In Shitenhouji Story, the chapters are unitary, each with a different narrator, with little to nothing explaining what happened since the last one. They're kind of designed like omake comics to come after larger installments of something else. Nevertheless, once you get the idea, it should all make enough sense. This isn't finished yet, but I do know where it's going, so long as I can find the time to write it all.

“That jerk, leaving me out here all by myself! Some _family!_ Ditching me for _girls!_ He’s not even attractive--I’m way cuter than he ever was! That jerk!"

That guy had had more than enough sake today. Then again, Koishikawa got the feeling that he’d be ranting something like this even without the addition of alcohol--it just might have been a little more coherent.

“I mean,” the guy slurred, continuing as though he and Koishikawa were actually having a real conversation, “it’s not like I can’t get a job on my own, you know! He’s not the _only_ talented one in the family! But we were, like, a _team!_ And you don’t just ditch out on your team because of some- some- some _hooker!_ What makes _him_ think he’s so popular, huh?”

“I don’t know, but I need to go look after the other customers, ok?” There weren’t very many people here this evening, but it gave Koishikawa something else to do.

“You’re a good man,” the guy mumbled, looking into his empty sake cup and turning it upside down as though the liquor was hiding. “A good man. Uh, while you’re up, could I get another of these?”

“Sure, sure.”

“That’s a real pity,” called one of the only other customers still here. He hadn’t had as much to drink, but seemed no better off for it. He was sitting at another table, stacking empty cups. “Your story, I mean.”

“I know, right?” the loud guy complained. “My cousin is such a- a- a jerk.”

By the time Koishikawa came back with more sake, the quieter guy had scooted over to the louder guy’s table and they were commiserating together. Made them easier to keep an eye on, at least. “But you see,” the quieter guy was explaining, gesturing broadly in the air with a bandaged hand, “whenever they close a door, they open a window.”

“Who’s _they?_ ” Koishikawa was surprised that the louder guy was still sober enough to ask such a reasonable question.

“Oh, I don’t know. The foxes. But that’s not the point,” the quieter guy drawled, laying his uninjured hand on the louder guy’s shoulder. “The _point_ is that there’s always something. Good. Something good. Like, maybe your cousin decided that Eastern whores were better company than you, but you know what? Your cousin’s goneness means that you’re free to do _anything_ you want to do. That doesn’t involve your cousin. Thank you, dear,” he added as Koishikawa gave him a refill, even though he really didn’t seem like he needed one. For one slightly horrifying second, it looked like he was going to try to hold Koishikawa’s hand, but thought better of it and went back to tracing the rim of the cup. And, if Koishikawa remembered correctly, he really hadn’t had that much yet.

“But I don’t _want_ to do anything that doesn’t involve my cousin!” the louder guy complained balefully, but backtracked after a few seconds. It probably took him that long to think through it. “Not like _that_ , though. I’m not, you know, like _that_ , I mean. You know?” His abstract gesticulations really didn’t help. “Not that I have a _problem_ with it, like, but, you know, I’m not. Like that. And _definitely_ not for my cousin, that big fat jerk.” But bringing up his cousin just seemed to depress him again. Was he this awkward when he was sober, Koishikawa had to wonder.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear, I understand,” the quieter guy sympathized, rubbing the louder guy’s back.

No more drinks for these guys.

“Still,” the quieter guy continued, tracing the rim of his glass again. “You can’t always have your first choice for what you want to do with your life, can you? Nope. Take this,” and he was looking at that bandaged hand of his. “I can’t do anything with this. I’ve been trying to fix it for...years. Years and years and years.” He wasn’t really looking at anything anymore, just staring ahead and tracing the rim of his glass. “It’s poison, you know. Anybody I touch with it gets tortured. To death. No cure. Been looking for one. But it’s a curse, you know, there aren’t cures. But I keep looking. I just keep looking and looking and looking, but nothing I hear turns out to work. Like today, I mean. They said if I came here then I’d find what I was looking for. Nope.” He sighed, and leaned some more on the louder guy. “Don’t you think I’ve tried hard enough? But nope. But this time, this time I’ve decided, no more. There’s too much of all this,” he sighed, waving his bandaged hand in the air. “And none of it gets me anything. So I’m moving on.”

Well, if Koishikawa had learned anything from serving people alcohol for a living, it was that everybody has a story. That was quite a story, though. Even though he might’ve had a bit too much already, Koishikawa refilled the guy’s glass anyway. He sounded like he needed it.

“Wow.” For once, the louder guy sounded like he couldn’t come up with anything to say. “That _sucks._ ”

The quieter guy pursed his lips and sighed again. “Mm, it could be worse. Anyway, it’s just like your cousin.”

The louder guy blinked blearily. “...Howzzat?”

The quieter guy sipped vaguely at his sake and focused on the louder guy as though he was about to impart the knowledge of the universe. “Well, you can’t fix what you can’t fix, can you? So you’ve just got to move on. Move on,” he said again, accompanying it the second time with a sweeping gesture, like he’d meant to do that the first time and hadn’t thought of it yet.

“Yeah,” the louder guy agreed, nodding very slowly and then picking up speed. “Yeah! You are _such_ a smart guy!” he added, a sloppy grin spreading across his face, like that was the wisest advice he’d ever received.

Well, at least he wasn’t pining for his cousin anymore. “So what’re you going to do now? Either of you,” Koishikawa asked, picking up the empty cups from the other tables.

The louder guy looked like he was about to respond, and pointed his finger like he had something to say, but then seemed to completely forget what that was. “I...dunno.”

The quieter guy had stopped tracing the rim of his empty glass and moved on to rolling it in circles around the table. “I’m going to _act_ ,” he answered decisively, nodding.

A rather surprising response. “Oh, you’re an actor?” Koishikawa asked, taking the empty cup away from the quieter guy in case it rolled off the table and broke.

“Well, I’ve never done it _before_ ,” the guy replied, tapping Koishikawa’s hand with a finger before Koishikawa could pull it away, “but it doesn’t look _hard_. I bet I could. I can dance, anyway. And I’ve always wanted to. Don’t you think that sounds nice?”

It sounded kind of irresponsible and dumb, actually, but Koishikawa held his tongue. It did actually kind of sound like fun, sure, but it wasn’t like a person could just run off and become an actor. Actors came by every once in a while, and the life sounded pretty damn difficult. Especially if a guy couldn’t act. And Koishikawa just couldn’t shake the feeling that this guy could _not_ act.

“Hey, _I_ can act!” the louder guy interjected, elbowing the quieter guy. “Can I come?”

“Sure!” That had to have been the first time the quieter guy had smiled since he came in today. It was a good thing these guys had found each other, Koishikawa decided. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Kenya--Oshitari Kenya,” the louder guy drawled, then made some stupid pun with the name. It was a real groaner, but one couldn’t really blame a drunk guy.

The quieter one laughed like it was a great joke, though. “You are _so funny!_ ” he giggled, pushing Oshitari in the shoulder like a flirting girl. “We could make an acting troupe, and you could do comedy routines or something! We would be _so cool_ ,” he grinned. “I’m Shiraishi Kuranosuke, and it is _great_ to meet you.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Koishikawa butt in, since it just didn’t seem right to let these guys dream without thinking it through first. “Making an acting troupe isn’t that easy, you know. You need to plan things out, you need to know how to advertise, you need to know how to set up. You can’t just run off and--”

“That’s _perfect!_ ” Oshitari interrupted, reaching out to grab Koishikawa’s sleeve. “You think of _everything!_ ”

“Then that can be your job,” Shiraishi nodded. “Err, what was your name, again?”

“Koishikawa Kenjirou,” he replied dubiously, wondering what he’d just gotten himself into.

“Ken-chan can handle the business stuff, and you and I can do the artsy stuff, Kenya,” Shiraishi decided, immediately using nicknames despite their only just having met.

“Wait, wait,” Koishikawa tried to go back. He’d never agreed to this harebrained scheme, had he?

“Oh, it’s ok,” Shiraishi waved away Koishikawa’s complaints, but then promptly passed out against Oshitari’s shoulder. Figures he couldn’t hold his liquor.

“So we can leave, like, tomorrow, right?” Oshitari continued, unfazed.

Screw it. There was no point arguing with drunk people. He sighed, “You know what? Sure. Help me with this guy,” he added, throwing Shiraishi’s arm around his shoulder to haul him to his feet. Just in case, though, he was careful with the bandages.

Oshitari was barely in better shape than Shiraishi, but at least he was conscious. He got Shiraishi’s other arm, and together they helped drag the poor guy to his room. Despite wobbling worse than a tree in an earthquake, Oshitari was surprisingly fast--nearly outran them both before he got too far and tripped. He had muttered a slurred apology out of which Koishikawa understood the words “Power,” “speed,” and what might have been “cousin,” but by this point he wasn’t exactly intelligible. They got Shiraishi to his room well enough, but as soon as Oshitari wasn’t carrying anyone, he was out stone cold on the floor. It seemed like too much effort to try to put him anywhere else.

Well, that was that. Koishikawa figured he’d best go pack.

*

It was extremely bright. _Extremely_ bright. And Shiraishi had the most _terrible_ headache. Why had he woken up, again?

There was someone lying about half on top of him, still asleep. It was probably that boy from the night before, whose cousin left. Kenya, wasn’t it? Shiraishi certainly didn’t remember having done anything untoward, but apparently he had wound up in Shiraishi’s room anyway. Oh well.

There was an uncomfortably loud knock on the doorframe. It felt rather like getting stabbed in the head with something. Kenya jolted awake with a miserable gurgling noise. Thankfully, instead of knocking again, whoever it was simply slid the door open.

“So?” Ken-chan stood in the doorway, carrying a bag and looking far too cheerful for it being this early. “You guys ready to go, or what?”

Kenya did not sound as though he was in very good shape, not that Shiraishi was in much better. “Whassgoinon?” he groaned, attempting to roll over and nearly elbowing Shiraishi in the head.

Shiraishi shut his eyes for a moment so that the sun would stop hurting them. “Were we going to leave today?” he tried to ask, disappointed that his voice was so groggy and yet unable and rather unwilling to fix that just yet.

“We decided on that after you’d passed out. I didn’t figure you’d mind,” Ken-chan offered helpfully. He probably wasn’t actually talking as loudly as it felt like he was, but Shiraishi did still wish he would be a bit quieter. He really shouldn’t have had so much to drink last night.

“Wait...who’re you?” Kenya mumbled, blinking blearily up at Shiraishi. His eyes weaved in and out of focus.

“We’re in an acting troupe together,” Shiraishi explained, patting Kenya lightly on the head with his good hand. “You and me and Ken-chan over there.”

“Ok, great,” he drawled, making silly faces as he attempted to wrap his head around the idea. “So... who’re you, again?”

~


	2. Hitoji

Kenya stopped in his tracks. That prickle on the back on his neck still hadn’t gone away. He was _not_ just going to write this off anymore. “No, seriously, guys, I think somebody’s watching us.”

Ken-chan looked over his shoulder and sighed. “You can be so paranoid,” he commented, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, it’s not paranoid if they’re--”

“Actually out to get you,” Shiraishi finished his sentence for him and laughed it off. It wasn’t very reassuring.

Ken-chan had lived with his parents, running that inn, basically forever. He was a great guy, practical, and much better with the business angle of things than either Kenya or Shiraishi were really geared for, but he was lucky he knew which end of the spear was pointy. One could hardly expect a guy like him to keep an eye out for danger. Shiraishi, though, was brilliant with a sword--nearly perfect--and had been running around Japan _by himself_ for essentially his entire life, doing all sorts of dangerous stuff. One would think he’d have developed at least _some_ survival skills in that much time, right? But apparently not, if he still couldn’t tell something seemed suspicious after _three days_ of that weird _stalked_ feeling. Kenya’d been on stage long enough now to have a pretty damn good idea of what it felt like when somebody was watching him, and he knew from before then to keep his wits about him when traveling.

Shiraishi smiled like he was humoring him. “Really, Kenya, if anyone was going to attack us, they would have done it by now. You don’t need to be so on edge.”

“I’m not on edge!” Kenya retorted, scowling. “It just creeps me out, is all.”

“Obviously,” Shiraishi chuckled. “But I very highly doubt that there are ninjas in the trees waiting to get the drop on us.”

“Hey, you never know!” Kenya’s voice replied--but it wasn’t Kenya that said it.

_Kenya_ was standing there in the road, right behind Kenya. There were two of him. They were even standing the same way, with the weight on the same feet and everything--was his hair really that messy today?

Kenya had his sword out and pointed at the newcomer’s throat faster than he could blink--they didn’t call him Naniwa’s Speed Star for nothing--but suddenly the guy looked completely different. For one thing, he was a lot shorter, and the sword was now pointed at his nose. He held up empty hands and took a step backward. “Hey, hey, hey!” His voice wasn’t Kenya’s anymore, either. Kinda plain, actually. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Please don’t stab me.”

“What the hell is going on?” Ken-chan asked loudly. Shiraishi wasn’t saying anything, but did come around to get a better look.

“Sorry I startled you. I didn’t expect you to react so badly. Please take the sharp object and point it somewhere that isn’t my face.” The guy swallowed hard but didn’t move. For being this close to Kenya running him through, he was surprisingly calm. He was armed--left handed, from the look of it--but he didn’t look like he was about to try anything. Cool customer.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kenya growled. Kenya never could stand people that were hard to read.

“If I agree to explain, will you stop threatening me with a potentially lethal weapon?”

“Kenya, put the sword away,” Shiraishi told him, but at least he sounded properly on guard. Kenya did, but only begrudgingly. At least he could easily take the guy down if he tried to run. Kenya almost dared him to.

“Thanks.” The new guy smiled and put his hands down. His face was pretty plain, too--no wonder he wanted to wear Kenya’s, however the hell that worked. Some people had the freakiest Powers. Kenya had even heard of people who could turn into animals or disappear and all sorts of weird shit. It made his own seem pretty tame by comparison. “Sorry I scared you, but I thought it would be funny. Name’s Hitoji Yuuji,” he offered, bowing a little.

“You thought it would be _funny?_ ” Kenya spluttered. And he thought _Shiraishi_ had a bad sense of humor!

“Obviously, you guys just were not in the proper mindset for it,” Hitoji sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “I apologize again for the misunderstanding.”

That was _it?_ Kenya was having a very difficult time conjuring and expressing the words that would properly convey his _‘what the fuck’_ feeling, and continued to stammer uselessly.

“Ok,” Ken-chan intervened, taking the opportunity to say something sensible while no one else was talking. He held up a finger for each question as he said them. “ _How_ does that work, and _why_ are you here?”

“Oh, the Power thing? If I watch anybody long enough, I can turn into them. See?” And suddenly Hitoji was Ken-chan, down to the stupid spiked hairline. The real Ken-chan stumbled back about a foot and nearly tripped. Kenya almost laughed. “I can do voices, too. It’s pretty cool,” he added, in perfect mimicry of Ken-chan, before instantly turning back into himself again. It didn’t even make any noise to indicate that there was a change, not even a ‘pop.’ “As for why I’m here,” he continued, shrugging, “I saw you guys’s last gig, back in town. It was pretty good, considering. Could have been better, but there are only three of you, after all.” He looked like he was honestly praising them, but there was still something patronizing about it that Kenya didn’t like. “And I was sitting there, figuring I’m all by myself with nothing productive to do, and you seemed like the kind of guys it would be nice to travel around with. So I followed you to make sure. And yeah, you guys seem nice.” He grinned, friendly-like. Wait, he’d been stalking them since their last performance? That was a week ago! And Kenya hadn’t noticed they were being followed until only three days ago. How had he let that happen?

“Why didn’t you just tell us you were there?” Shiraishi asked, while Kenya was still kicking himself for not noticing being tailed sooner. Maybe Shiraishi had known all along, or at least if he hadn’t he’d pretend he had. “It would have saved a lot of worry.”

Hitoji shrugged again. “I wanted to make an entrance.”

Now _that_ seemed like the stupidest excuse Kenya had ever heard of, and he was about to say so, but Shiraishi replied, “I can understand that.” What the hell! Kenya gave Ken-chan a look, since Ken-chan was the only other sane person here, but Ken-chan just rolled his eyes and shook his head like, _‘what can you do?’_

Kenya tried not to pout, since Yuushi always bitched at him about how pouting’s only cute on girls, but he did fold his arms and huff a little. “So, what, are we just going to let this creeper into the group? After he just admitted that he’s been ogling us for the last week?” he snapped, annoyed that Shiraishi seemed to be making friends already even though Kenya was _not_ ok with it. Even Ken-chan wasn’t as bothered as a sane person _should_ be.

“Well, you don’t have to,” Hitoji replied, scratching his nose. “It’s you guys’s call. But I will say that you guys need me.” He nodded at the suggestion sympathetically.

“We’ve been doing quite well on our own so far,” Shiraishi countered, raising an eyebrow. Obviously he hadn’t been completely won over yet, which was reassuring.

Hitoji raised his own eyebrow. “Was that performance last week the best you guys have?”

Ken-chan shrugged and scratched his head. “It’s standard,” was all he would say about it.

“Hey, _I_ thought it was awesome,” Kenya defended stubbornly. And hey, it was a pretty damn good performance, as far as Kenya was concerned. Shiraishi was never that funny, sure, and Ken-chan was pretty damn average across the board, whether it be singing, dancing, acting or whatever, but Kenya thought that they’d done good. And hell, it was a lot better than the performance before that one. The human pyramid didn’t even fall down.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Hitoji shook his head and clicked his tongue. “The offer still stands,” he added, holding out his hands and waiting for an answer.

Shiraishi frowned. “Well, what exactly do you _do?_ ”

Hitoji grinned. “That depends,” he said. “What’cha got?”

~


	3. Kintarou

It was getting late, and they had already set up camp. Shiraishi was practicing swordplay (to stay sharp, he always insisted, even though he was good at it enough already.) Kenya was writing another novel-length letter to that cousin of his (how the mail couriers ever found them, Yuuji would never know.) Koishikawa was cooking dinner. And Yuuji was going over their most recent script.

They’d been getting better lately, they really had. Almost every time the audience laughed now was on purpose. Of course, Shiraishi and Kenya could never tell the difference, and Koishikawa didn’t care so long as things were going well, but it made Yuuji feel better. They’d been doing mostly comedy lately--apparently they used to do more dramas, but the only one who liked them was Shiraishi, and he was easier to outvote now than he used to be. And everybody seemed happy for it. Yuuji liked to make people happy.

Shiraishi had nagged Kenya until he’d stopped writing, and the two were now sparring. Kenya moved too fast to see (it made him really hard to copy,) but Shiraishi managed to block all of his attacks easily. Of course, neither of them were really trying. This was just for practice. It was still fun to watch, though.

Koishikawa stirred the soup in a figure-eight pattern (so that it wouldn’t burn to the bottom of the pot, he’d said once.) He stopped every few stirs to sniff it and make sure it was still going well enough. Koishikawa was the best cook out of the four of them, without a doubt. Whenever it was Kenya’s turn to cook, he usually stirred so fast that it spilled, and then it usually burned to the bottom anyway (because he had gotten distracted and left it alone too long.) Shiraishi just never stopped stirring, at the exact same pace at all times (‘perfect,’) but it tended to come out kind of bland. Yuuji couldn’t say much for his own cooking, either. Koishikawa’s food tasted best. It smelled great, too.

There was a sound, over in the grass to the edge of the campsite. It wasn’t that loud, technically, and Koishikawa didn’t seem like he’d noticed. Shiraishi and Kenya did, though. The grass started rustling more, and a hand shot out into the clearing, dragging behind it a--kid?

“That smells good...” the kid groaned, muffled by the weight of his own head (he was flopped face-down. His hair was a total _mess._ ) His stomach growled audibly. Where the hell did a kid come from?

“Where the hell did a _kid_ come from?” Kenya gawped, his jaw hanging open.

*

After two or three bowls of soup, the kid introduced himself as Tooyama Kintarou while he devoured his fourth. Kenya could eat faster than that, yes, but he certainly couldn’t eat that _much_.

“So, uh, _what_ are you doing here?” Koishikawa asked, still working on his first bowl of soup. He kept swirling his chopsticks in it without eating much.

“Oh, I’m seeking my fortune! Hey, this soup is _great!_ I was so hungry,” the kid replied cheerfully, grinning and completely changing the subject. Kids tended to do that.

“Seeking your fortune?” Shiraishi asked. He was frowning with worry at the kid, and hadn’t touched his soup at all. The boy did look young to be out by himself, ‘seeking his fortune’ or whatever he was up to. He couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve.

“Uh huh!” The kid nodded and nearly dropped his rice. “Like in the stories my mom told me!”

“Oh yeah?” Kenya smiled, leaning forward a bit. His soup was long gone. “Which story’s your favorite?”

The kid’s grin split wider, glad for the attention. He had a bit of something stuck in his teeth. “I like the one about Issun-boshi! He’s _so cool!_ My mom must’ve told me that one a bazillion times!” he claimed. His voice was a little too loud for the setting. Kids tended to do that, too. “But I like all of ‘em--Momotaro, and the Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, and My Lord Bag of Rice, and the Boy Who Drew Cats, and Urashima Taro--but Urashima Taro was dumb, wasn’t he! They told him not to open the box!” He waved his hands and wore an expression like, _‘could you believe it?’_

Kenya laughed, “Well, yeah, but, you know? That’s how the story’s supposed to go. That’s the point.” He reached over and ruffled the kid’s messy hair, even though he usually didn’t adjust well to strangers. He must have a younger sibling at home. “And hey, what if I gave _you_ a shiny box and told you never to open it! What would you do, huh?”

The kid frowned, pondering. It looked like it took a lot of effort. He scratched his head, though how he reached his scalp through that rat’s nest was anyone’s guess. “Well, what’s in it?” he asked finally, confused.

Kenya snorted. “I’m not telling!” he teased, grinning.

“But—but!” The kid’s face fell. “But what’s in it?”

Kenya just laughed, while the kid kept nagging at him. Yuuji drank the rest of his soup and stayed quiet.

Yuuji really wasn’t good with kids. He could make excuses about how they were loud, or dirty, or stupid, or any of that, but that really wasn’t it. Kids never did what you expected them to. They’d never ignore you when you wanted to be ignored, they’d never pay attention when they were supposed to, and they’d never get it when you tried to explain anything. It was easiest just to avoid them altogether.

Shiraishi hadn’t looked away from the kid once since he’d turned up. He still hadn’t eaten anything. “So,” he asked carefully, furrowing his eyebrows and pursing his lips, “why did you leave home? Did you just wake up one morning and feel like it?”

The kid shrugged and grinned. “Yeah, basically! Only I forgot to bring any food, and I didn’t bring anything to cook with, and I kept scaring all the fish in the rivers away, and I got really hungry!” The kid laughed, as though nearly starving was funny. “And then I found you guys! Thanks for the food!”

Shiraishi’s eyes widened. “How long had you been traveling?” He toyed with the ends of his hair nervously. He was seriously worried about this kid, wasn’t he?

The kid blinked. “Oh, I dunno! Uh...” He started counting on his fingers, slowly. “Maybe... two weeks? Three weeks? I wasn’t really paying attention!” He grinned again, big and shiny, and clasped his arms behind his head. The kid didn’t notice, but Shiraishi forgot to breathe there for a second.

The wind blew through the grasses, reminding everybody that yes, evening was rather cold after all. The trees rustled loudly.

The noise made the kid _freeze._ “What was that?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet for the first time since he’d had something to eat. His eyes shifted around, and his shoulders tensed up.

“Oh, the monsters,” Shiraishi commented offhandedly, collecting everybody’s empty soup and rice bowls and stacking them. He must have completely forgotten about his own dinner by now.

“ _Monsters?_ ” The kid’s face fell like a rock.

Somewhere inside Shiraishi, a light came on. “Oh, yes,” he added, playing it completely straight, but his eyes glittered. “They eat children, you know. You’re very lucky to have found us when you did.”

“They _eat children?_ ” Hook, line and sinker. The kid’s eyes were as big as the soup bowls, staring at Shiraishi.

The captain just nodded, as though child-eating monsters were an everyday occurrence, and continued to help Koishikawa clean up. “You ought to go to sleep, it’s getting late,” he suggested, pointing toward the tent with a bandaged finger. “We can take care of the monsters if they come.”

The kid looked dubiously at the bandages. “Are you guys _strong_ enough to take care of monsters?” he asked warily, but he looked plenty tired. His eyes were starting to droop, and even as Yuuji watched he had to stifle a yawn. Yuuji gave him about ten minutes before he would be out like a light.

“Are you kidding?” Kenya piped up, grinning fiercely. “I’m Naniwa’s Speed Star, I can take out monsters before they could _blink!_ ” He brandished his sword arm, clenching his fist, and nodded. “And Shiraishi over there? That arm is _poison!_ ” he hissed behind his hand and pointed, as though telling a secret. “All he has to do is _touch_ a monster and it dies in two seconds!”

“ _Wow!_ ” The kid’s jaw dropped in utter awe before he picked it back up and grinned appreciatively. “Thanks!” And he ducked into the tent. Within the minute Yuuji could hear snoring.

Shiraishi kept smiling in the tent’s direction for a few moments after that.

“You going to eat that?” Koishikawa prompted, nudging Shiraishi’s soup bowl with his foot as he stood to put away the dishes. “I would, if I was you.”

“Oh! Right,” Shiraishi started, and finally got around to eating his own food. He didn’t look very interested in it.

Kenya nodded again, to himself, and announced, “I say we keep him.”

Koishikawa didn’t seem surprised by the suggestion and shrugged. “Well, it definitely sounds like he’d be better off with us than by himself.” He eyed the stacked dishes that no one had bothered washing yet. “Sure eats a lot, though.”

“Well, if Shiraishi keeps forgetting to eat, we can just give the kid _his_ share,” Kenya needled, poking Shiraishi in the ribs with his elbow. Shiraishi nearly spilled his soup trying to avoid it. He still had a lot of it left. Throwing Kenya back an exasperated scowl, he drank the rest in one go, probably just to get rid of it, and handed the bowl back to Koishikawa. “I still say we keep him,” Kenya added again, in case anyone had forgotten.

“What about his parents, though? They must be worried sick about him,” Shiraishi frowned, biting his thumbnail absently through the bandage. Good thing the poison didn’t hurt him any. He really was beside himself over this kid. And he’d only just met him. Shiraishi didn’t usually stick to people so quickly, at least not in Yuuji’s experience. He was good with people, probably better than any of the rest of them, but he never really got attached to anything. Maybe the kid was waking up his maternal instincts or something.

Koishikawa started wiping down the dishes with a rag. He frowned too, and his eyebrows met in the middle. “Well, he said he’d been wandering around for a while, right? I wonder if he still lives around here. If he does, you could always just take him home.”

“He probably doesn’t _want_ to go home. He headed out on his own, didn’t he?” Yuuji sniffed, reluctantly entering the conversation. Personally, he didn’t want to keep the kid. Kids were a mess waiting to happen, and one that he didn’t want to have to deal with. The other guys weren’t making up their minds about it, though, and it was getting silly. If they were just going to prattle on about it, Yuuji may as well contribute.

“But he _obviously_ can’t take care of himself,” Shiraishi interjected, gloom deepening. Another vote for sending him back to his folks. So he made his argument, anyway, but his eyes kept flicking back to the tent where the kid was sleeping. “It doesn’t seem right for a boy his age to be away from home--”

“How old were you when you left home? He’s mature enough to be out, he’s just incompetent,” Koishikawa cut in, stopping Shiraishi short and leaving him to think on that for a bit. Koishikawa let his breath out in an exasperated puff, putting the dishes away for the night. “If the kid can pull his own weight, we could afford to feed him,” he offered, shrugging again.

“Well, of course.” Shiraishi waved his bandaged hand as though he was dusting off an invisible something ( _‘That aside, that aside,’_ ) but his face looked sorely tempted. “But his family...”

“Oh, come on.” Yuuji heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. So be it. Yuuji may not like kids much, but his sacrifice would be for the good of the team. “You want to keep him, right? No one says you can’t.”

Shiraishi looked honestly surprised that he’d been caught. He probably hadn’t even noticed he was being so obvious. He was a terrible actor, after all. Even if he was trying to talk himself out of it (because there was something Buddhist about denying himself the things he wanted or whatever,) he couldn’t hide how much he liked that kid. It was almost cute, in a weird sort of way.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Kenya added, grinning his most persuasive grin (its success rate tended to vary depending on the target. Within the group it didn’t always work so well. Still, Kenya never missed a chance to try.)

The internal battle between what he thought he ought to do and what he wanted to do showed on the captain’s face. He was in charge and it was his call, after all. And the kid was like a dog with a collar on--he had to have an owner somewhere, the issue was how hard you planned on looking for it. Shiraishi frowned some more, and chewed pensively on his thumbnail again. “We’ll _ask_ him,” he finally compromised, “whether he wants to come with us or go home. No final decisions until Kin-chan wakes up. Does this work for everybody?”

Koishikawa claimed that whatever Shiraishi wanted to do was fine by him. Kenya jumped to his feet and scoffed that of course the kid would want to stay, Shiraishi was worrying too much. Yuuji just nodded and shrugged.

‘Kin-chan.’ The kid was as good as Shiraishi’s already.

~


	4. Koharu

“Hey, Shiraishi! Can I act this time?”

“Er, I don’t think you’re ready to start acting yet, Kin-chan,” Shiraishi consoled. He hoped that he was letting the boy down gently. Indeed, Kintarou had improved in leaps and bounds since he’d first joined them. For one thing, he had gotten into the habit of bathing regularly, something Shiraishi highly doubted he’d done much before. He had also gotten a lot more... controllable, more capable of organized activity. He didn’t get lost half so much as he used to, nor did he interrupt so often. He was getting to be quite a good acrobat, his dancing skill was coming along, and his singing would surely get there eventually. Still, Shiraishi didn’t think it was time yet for Kintarou to take the stage as an actor.

“Oh, come on!” Kintarou pleaded, grinning up at Shiraishi from ear to ear. “I’d be great at it, I promise! And it looks like so much fun!”

It was hard to turn the boy down, it really was. “Kin-chan, have you learned to read yet?”

The grin slid off the boy’s face as he looked away guiltily. “Well, _kind of_ ,” he answered evasively, though he really had barely learned at all. He couldn’t even recognize all of the kana yet.

Shiraishi gave Kintarou an indulgent smile. “Kin-chan,” he sighed, “you can’t be an actor if you can’t read. How would you learn your lines?”

Kintarou seemed to think about that for a while. “You could _tell_ them to me?” he suggested slowly, accompanying it with a hopeful smile.

Shiraishi shook his head. “You wouldn’t remember them. Besides, Kin-chan,” he began before the boy could argue again, “This time we have to make sure we get it just right, since we have people to impress today.”

“Aw, I could do fine,” Kintarou complained, but he was starting to relent, at least. He was pouting more than arguing anymore.

“Yuuji’s nervous enough as it is,” Shiraishi reminded, before deflecting Kintarou’s attention toward a more constructive outlet. “Go help Ken-chan set up the set, would you? He always has trouble with the heavy things.” That should distract him. Sure enough, he bounded off again, lifting the cart Ken-chan had been dragging behind him over his head and running away with it like it was a kite.

It wasn’t only Yuuji who was nervous, of course. Everyone was at least a little on edge--except for Kintarou, of course, who was never really bothered by anything--due to the added pressure of the company. Shitenhouji had never been in town at the same time as another troupe before, which Ken-chan and Yuuji always insisted was to their benefit. The competition would have been stressful enough. Imagine Shiraishi’s surprise, then, when the other troupe offered instead to collaborate!

It wasn’t going to be anything especially complicated, considering there was such little time to prepare. The first half of the show would be Shitenhouji’s, which they’d decided to fill with mostly singing and dancing, and a few comedy sketches. The second half would belong to the other troupe, to do with as they liked. That way, each group could watch the performance of the other. It seemed a very reasonable arrangement.

Shiraishi would be lying if he claimed not to be nervous. It was very important to him to make sure this performance went perfectly. He had all of their basic skits memorized, and practiced the lines and movements ten times a night every night, but he should not get complacent. They weren’t doing anything new this time, but there was always the possibility that something could go wrong. Still, there was something very thrilling about the whole business. The challenge would certainly make it interesting.

Ken-chan and Kintarou were talking again about why Kintarou shouldn’t act this time, having finished with the sets. Kenya was zipping around from place to place, checking on this or that, muttering his lines under his breath. Yuuji was going over the scripts again, looking like he might vomit. It was almost time.

Well, here went nothing.

*

“That. Was. _Awesome_ ,” Kenya glowed, sitting in the audience next to Shiraishi. The other troupe was going on soon--apparently they were going to do a straight play. “Seriously, I don’t think we’ve _ever_ been this awesome!”

“Yeah, who’d have thought?” Ken-chan added, sitting down on Kenya’s other side. Kenya punched him, but he was still grinning.

“That was so much _fun!_ ” Kintarou had squeezed in between Kenya and Shiraishi, practically sitting on both of their laps before Kenya finally budged over. “Hey, Shiraishi, did you see me, did you see their faces when I did the jump with all the spins in it? I thought their _jaws_ were gonna fall off! That was _great!_ We should do this every day!”

“Inside voices, Kin-chan,” Shiraishi reminded him, but he couldn’t deny that the overwhelming enthusiasm was very cute.

“But we’re outside!”

“There are a lot of people around, and you want to make sure not to bother them.”

“Aww, come on...”

“Kintarou,” Shiraishi warned, touching his bandages.

The boy stopped dead. “Ok!” he squeaked, his voice back down to manageable levels. “Ok! No poison!” And he stayed still, the very model of an obedient child.

He couldn’t quite remember how Kintarou had become convinced that Shiraishi would poison him if he misbehaved. Perhaps it had been something Shiraishi had said. Still, however it had started, it had a wonderful effect. Of course he would never, ever actually expose Kin-chan to the poison--the very idea was occasionally the stuff of Shiraishi’s nightmares--but it didn’t hurt anyone to pretend that he might, and it worked marvelously for keeping Kintarou in check. Most of the time he minded authority for authority’s sake, but the boy could easily outmatch any of them, if he ever tried hard enough, and seemed to be getting stronger and more skilled every day. If he was ever to realize that, there would be no stopping him. Nonetheless, he was _terrified_ of Shiraishi’s left arm. In fact, sometimes it was disheartening, the lengths to which he would go to avoid it, but at least it gave Shiraishi some leverage, and at least there would never be any accidents. Shiraishi patted Kintarou’s head with his good hand and left it at that.

“It really was a good show, though,” Yuuji added, sitting on Shiraishi’s other side. “The audience definitely liked it.” He looked very relieved to have it over with, smiling more honestly. “I wonder what sort of play the other troupe is going to do...?” But the crowd had started to go quiet, and the lights had started to dim, so any further comments went unsaid.

The curtain opened on two actors, one of whom was dressed as a woman. The actor playing the woman wasn’t what Shiraishi would call pretty, but some things couldn’t be helped, he supposed. This was probably going to be a love drama of some sort, judging from the setting, and sure enough the players soon began pining over their ill-fated love, lamenting that the girl’s father would never allow them to marry, and such things. The costumes were nice, true, but the plot thus far seemed very formulaic. The leading man was rather unspectacular, in Shiraishi’s opinion. The heroine, meanwhile, was pouring a great deal of emotion into her lines and movements--however, the material itself was rather unspectacular as well.

“Oh, Haruko!” the leading man warbled, “We are so unfortunate! For I love you with a heart that cannot be contained, and yet it cannot be!”

“Oh, Takeyama-sama!” the heroine warbled back, “My sleeves have not once dried from the tears I shed upon them!”

Yuuji leaned over slightly and muttered to Shiraishi, “I’ve seen better.”

“I think we’ve _done_ better,” Shiraishi whispered back. Shitenhouji used to do dramas. Kenya perhaps was never very good at being a serious lead, but he would at least be much more interesting than this actor, and Shiraishi was sure he himself had played a heroine like this at some point before.

“Mm, that’s debatable,” Yuuji hummed, a little unfairly, Shiraishi thought. “The onnagata would be pretty good, though, if the script was decent,” he added, more fairly. Yuuji was right about the script, at least. He did have good taste in storytelling, if nothing else. “Real pity.”

The scene ended uneventfully and the next started, not much better than the first. This one included the heroine’s father, played by a man with a weak voice who was altogether unthreatening. Also, he seemed to think that his acting would improve if he excessively exaggerated all of his movements, nearly losing his wig whenever he shouted and making the sets shiver with his footfalls. The leading man wasn’t in this scene, but the heroine was, crying piteously as her father declared that she ‘must never see that man again’ or some such nonsense.

It was a talent, Shiraishi must admit, that the heroine could produce such copious tears on cue, even with the fellow actors providing so little to effectively cry at. That unfortunately did not change the fact that there was altogether too much crying in this play in the first place. The heroine gave an impassioned soliloquy informing the audience of her plans to elope with the hero, and then the scene was over. As she exited, Shiraishi thought he noticed her actor glance out at the audience and frown slightly.

On Shiraishi’s right side, Kintarou fell asleep.

It did not bode well.

“Hey,” Kenya hissed over the top of Kintarou’s sleepy head. “Think maybe we ought to leave?”

“That would probably be very rude,” Shiraishi whispered back, frowning. After all, this was supposed to be a joint venture, and it wouldn’t do to cut and run, as dull as this may be. The other troupe no doubt would think very ill of them.

“Not to mention we wouldn’t get our cut,” Ken-chan added across Kenya in a low voice, practical as always.

Kenya pulled a dreading face and, glancing meaningfully at Kintarou, hissed ominously, “But what if Kin-chan here starts snoring?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to wake him up if that happens,” Shiraishi suggested, sighing. He really wasn’t looking forward to such an event. Kintarou did not wake quietly. Still, in life one ought always to pick the lesser of two evils.

The next scene began, and Kenya fell silent.

The lead and the heroine were on stage again, declaring their eternal love for each other and their plans to elope, in case the audience had not paid attention at the end of the previous scene. It was unnecessary dialogue and it wasted time, in Shiraishi’s opinion, but this play had very little in its favor to begin with. If one was to cut it down for efficiency, there would be little but a few sentences left. That might have been perfect, though, for a story such as this.

A broad dramatic gesture from the lead actor--“Tonight!”--tapped the set and set it teetering.

“We didn’t build that one,” Ken-chan muttered, eyeing it warily.

Suddenly, before even the next line, it toppled, the entire weight of it crashing down on the lead actor’s head.

Kintarou woke up.

The actor playing the heroine quickly ducked to check on the man, taking his pulse and frowning. A few seconds later, he lifted the other actor by his under-arms and dragged him unceremoniously off the edge of the stage. Surprisingly, however, he came right back again to stand in the center of the stage, even though the show had to be over by that point. With the lead actor out of commission, it was the end.

Except that, out of nowhere, the actor produced a chonmage wig, swapped it for his long princess one, which he somehow managed to stow away, and continued the play exactly where the lead actor had left off. “Tonight!” he cried in a manlier voice, with much more feeling than his predecessor, “Tonight, Haruko, we two shall finally be free!” He threw an aching look at stage left, where no one was standing, and sighed breathlessly, “How I have longed for your touch, to feel your embrace!”

A hesitant glance either direction told Shiraishi that he was not alone in having absolutely no idea what was going on. Kintarou was looking wildly around as though he thought he’d missed something, while Kenya’s face was twisted up in confusion. Ken-chan’s head was tilted to one side, an eyebrow raised. Yuuji’s jaw had come unhinged.

In a blink, however, the actor had managed to switch wigs again, once more the heroine. “Oh, Takeyama-sama!” she pined, “I too have dreamed of this day! And yet I had never thought I would have the courage to thus defy my father! His wrath may yet prove too great!” and she began to cry again, a bit more exaggeratedly than before.

Switching again--how was he managing this?--the actor was now the hero, tears miraculously gone, consoling the empty space that would be his partner, “Fear not, my darling!” he announced triumphantly, “For our love shall protect us from evil!”

There was a snorting sort of noise from Shiraishi’s left. Yuuji was stifling back laughter, his shoulders shaking from the effort. Shiraishi had never seen Yuuji laugh before. He was very good at making other people laugh, of course, and could read an audience better than anyone, but seldom laughed himself. He was always very picky about his humor. And yet, here he was, about to pop from this bizarre performance. Shiraishi didn’t know what to think of it.

“Oh, Takeyama-sama!” the heroine--for, somehow, the actor was playing the heroine again--squealed girlishly, wiggling her hips in a gleeful impromptu dance.

The whole audience was laughing this time, Shiraishi included. What on _earth_ had happened to the play?

After a few more over-the-top “Oh, Haruko!”s and “Oh, Takeyama-sama!”s, which the actor might have thrown in simply for fun, the hero finally declared, “I can stand it no longer! Come to my arms, Haruko! Now we shall be one!”

They didn’t call him Naniwa’s Speed Star for nothing--Kenya’s hand was clamped over Kintarou’s eyes faster than thought, with Shiraishi’s own hands covering the boy’s ears as quick as he could manage.

It wasn’t too inappropriate, of course--there was only one actor, after all--but he did turn his back to the audience, wrap his arms around himself, and make disturbing squelching noises and moans as he wrestled himself to the stage floor, ending the act. The audience roared with laughter, and Kintarou demanded to know what he had missed. Everyone was still cracking up even after the stage was empty.

Yuuji was nearly in tears by this point. “That,” he choked, barely able to form words he was laughing so hard, “that was _brilliant!_ ”

Kenya was having a giggle fit as well, grinning from ear to ear, but he could pull himself together long enough to cough out, “Jeez, Yuuji! I’ve never seen you like anybody this much!”

Yuuji waved it off, still laughing, his head turned the other way.

It was a little longer before the last act started, and there was some audible shuffling. Perhaps the actors had to adjust the script due to the accident. Still, eventually the actors filed in. The heroine was in tears again, sobbing piteously, but this time the audience seemed to find it funny. The actor playing her father threw down a dummy dressed as the hero, shouting thinly that he had killed the hero for so defying him, which only made the heroine cry louder, her voice reaching ridiculous levels. Then her father threw her a knife and declared that if the heroine had any respect for the family honor, she’d follow him. He then proceeded to stomp off the stage, to the laughter of the crowd.

The heroine warbled her final soliloquy with mock-despair, bemoaning her fate in much too exaggerated a way to be serious and probably embellishing it as she went to make it better. She tied her knees together in the traditional woman’s suicide pose with melodramatic movements, and finally, crying, “I will see you soon, my darling~!” stabbed herself brutally in the neck.

Next to Shiraishi, Kintarou gasped loudly. “She _died?!_ ” Shiraishi shushed him.

It seemed to take the heroine ages to die. Upon stabbing herself, she let forth an agonizing, strangled yell that went on far too long. With shaking hands, she dropped the knife and went into convulsions, continuing to make choking noises, for at least a minute. Finally, she slumped, limp, twitching sporadically, before finally, _finally_ remaining decisively dead.

The audience exploded with laughter and cheers. The actor grinned widely before exiting the stage, and the crowd kept laughing for some time before starting to clear out.

“Well!” Shiraishi smiled, in much better spirits than he had expected to be at the beginning of the performance. “Shall we begin cleaning up?”

*

Shiraishi had hoped to congratulate the other troupe on a job well done, but when he came backstage, he apparently had walked in on an argument.

“Way to ruin the show!” the actor who had played the father wheezed at the other, taking off his wig.

The actor who had played the heroine, even homelier in person, had also taken his wig off--his hair was almost as short as a monk’s under it--and was dragging their third member off to the side where some costumes were piled. “You don’t honestly think it’s my fault that Toshi got hit by the stupid set!” he complained, incredulous.

“They _laughed_ at us!”

“It was _funny!_ ”

“It’s supposed to be a _tragedy!_ ”

“Well no one was _liking_ it!”

The first actor clapped a hand to his forehead and heaved a huffing sigh. “Why couldn’t you just wait for Toshi to wake up instead of going off on your own like that, anyway? You always make it _ridiculous_ whenever you go off on your own!”

“Toshi’s not waking up for another three hours and roughly twenty-three minutes, judging from how hard he was hit. _You_ try getting an audience to wait around that long,” the other countered precisely, putting his hands on his hips. “Besides, ‘the show must go on!’ I had to improvise! And they liked it anyway!”

“ _Dammit_ , Koharu!”

The one called Koharu noticed Shiraishi then, and, looking embarrassed, tried to flag down the other actor, “Um, Captain...”

“Oh!” The first actor, apparently the leader, turned around. Seeing Shiraishi, his anger was quickly replaced with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry about that. You must think us very rude. Shiraishi-kun, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Shiraishi replied to the immediate question, then went on as politely as possible, “and please, don’t worry about it.”

“That was a very nice performance you and your group gave this evening!”

Shiraishi was about to modestly deny the praise when Yuuji’s head popped around the corner, looking concerned. “Captain, you ok back there? We thought we heard--" but Yuuji stopped abruptly, eyes widening. They were fixed on a point somewhat past Shiraishi--oh. _Oh_.

In a slightly louder voice, intended for everyone, Shiraishi commented, “My colleague Yuuji was _very_ fond of your performance today. He said it was the best he’d ever seen.”

The one called Koharu ducked around his captain to get a better look. Indeed, thought Shiraishi, a very homely face, even with the excessive makeup, but that wasn’t any of Shiraishi’s business. The actor took several mincing steps toward Yuuji before his face finally split into a wide smile. “Oh!” he squealed, waving his hands excitedly. “You were the clever one, who did that great comedy bit in the second number!” 

Yuuji’s face turned beet red. He swallowed hard. That had been it, after all. Shiraishi had thought so.

“And wow!” Koharu leaned in closer, smiling wider. “You’re super-cute up close! What’s your name, again?”

“Hi-Hi-Hi-Hi-Hi-Hitoji,” Yuuji stammered awkwardly, spitting the whole thing out in one breath as soon as he could manage, “Hitojiyuuji.”

“Well, Hi-Hi-Hitoji,” Koharu joked, smiling cheekily, “how’d you like to buy me a drink? Maybe we could go somewhere and...talk?”

Lighting up, Yuuji threw a quick look at Shiraishi, as though asking permission.

Far be it from him to get in the way. “Have fun,” Shiraishi offered, smiling. “Be at camp in the morning.”

A grin ghosted across Yuuji’s face before he took a quick, deep breath and arranged his face into a cavalier smile, eyes only on the other actor. “It would be my pleasure,” he said in a put-on noble voice, bowing deeply. “Shall we be off?”

Giggling girlishly, Koharu, still in a woman’s kimono, took Yuuji’s arm and made to leave, but his captain called him back. “Oh, right, Koharu, before you go, what was the take today?”

Koharu stopped and turned around, pouting. “70 coppers. I already counted,” he sighed boredly, but then rattled off the rest without pausing even a moment for thought: “If you want to divide it straight down the middle, each troupe would get 35 coppers. Given that we have three and our dear company has five, among our group that would come to 11 each with a remainder of 2, and among theirs it would come to exactly 7 each. If you want to divide it evenly among each player, we’d all get 8 coppers each with a remainder of 6. If you want to divide it up by individual appearances on stage, during the first half Pretty-boy Captain-san, Speedy, and Cutie here each were on stage about 1/4 of the time, with Quiet-san and the boy splitting the last 1/4 between them. As for us, I was on stage 1/2 the time, you about 1/3, and Toshi sadly abbreviated to roughly 1/6 of the stage time. Working with the starting point of 35 coppers to each group, Shitenhouji’s main three would each get 9 coppers, with the other two each getting 4, while in our group, that would amount to 12 coppers for you, 17 for me, and 6 for Toshi. How you wish to go about dividing it all, I leave for you captains to discuss. Now will that do?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

The man waved them away, and they were off. As they left, Shiraishi could hear Yuuji say, in all seriousness, “That was _amazing_.”

“Sorry about Koharu,” the captain now apologized to Shiraishi, wringing his hands. “He’s...”

“He’s a _genius_ ,” Shiraishi said, astounded. “How did he do all that math so quickly?”

“Oh, he’s Empowered,” the actor wheezed offhandedly, shrugging. “About the only thing he’s good for, really.”

The way he so easily dismissed his colleague made Shiraishi a bit uncomfortable. “We were quite impressed with his performance, actually.”

“Well, yes,” the other captain replied with a pained expression, “but you’re _comedians_. We’re supposed to be _actors_. You understand, don’t you?”

*

“Oh, I _love_ boke-tsukkomi routines!” Koharu enthused, grinning at Yuuji, eyes shining, hands balled up in happy fists under his chin. But then he frowned and pouted. “I would do them myself, you know, it’s just that I can never find a straight man. I mean, _you_ saw them.” He rolled his eyes and knocked back his sake. “They’re all just a little _too_ straight, if you know what I mean.”

Yuuji snorted at the memory. “Yeah, I do know what you mean.” He took a sip of his drink, thinking about it. “They guys I’m with--they’re the nicest guys I’ve ever met, seriously, and I’m really glad to be with them--but, well, they’d probably know a joke if they heard one, but they couldn’t _tell_ one to save their lives.”

Suddenly, as though lightning had struck, they looked at each other. Yuuji grinned. “Koharu, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Koharu returned the grin mischievously. “I think so, Yuu-kun, but where are we going to find a goat and some silkworms at this hour?”

*

Shiraishi ensured that everyone was up early the next morning to pack up camp. He did not want to stay in this town any longer than necessary.

Yuuji shambled up the path toward camp, holding hands with the actor from the night before, who was carrying a bag and grinning. When they got close, Yuuji smiled sheepishly, gesturing toward Koharu. “He followed me home, Captain, can I keep him?”

~


End file.
